Tales of the Sword Coast: Corinne's Tale
by V.Nightingale
Summary: Title slightly changed. Corinne Morrow is an Athkatlan adventurer who lives and dies by her wits and her skill with a blade. Will she be able to survive the quest to rescue a kidnapped noblewoman, or will she too become a victim?
1. Chapter One

The man who stepped into the Copper Coronet looked a far cry from its usual denizens.  Everything from his clean shaven face to the hammered gold of his belt buckle suggested that he'd be more at home in the Government or Temple District than this smoky tavern.  Let the nobles make their laws and build their temples; here in the Slums, the only law was the law of the sword, gold the only god.  There was a restless mutter of resentful conversation as the nobleman surveyed the room, but it soon subsided.  The clientele at the Copper Coronet have long since learned to mind their business.  Still, I knew that my eyes weren't the only ones that surreptitiously followed him.

The dark haired man stepped to the bar and ordered a mug of ale.  As he sipped the bitter drink he spoke quietly with Hammond, the bartender.  I narrowed my eyes as Hammond nodded in my direction.  I did my drinking in unlit corners for a reason; I liked to be left alone.  A moment later the stranger picked up his mug and moved in my direction.

"May I sit?" he asked in a low, pleasant baritone.  I waved a hand in assent and he slid onto the bench across from me. 

We studied each other for a moment.  He was young, still in his twenties, dark eyed, broad shouldered.  Pampered noble or not, there was real muscle beneath the fine clothing.   He peered into the dark corner where I sat, trying to get a good look at me.  Finally he asked, "What kind of person hides in shadows?"

 "What brings a nobleman's son to the Copper Coronet?" I countered.  "The Whore's Guild is in the Docks." 

His eyes narrowed slightly, whether from my words or from the realization that he spoke with a woman, I could not tell.  I leaned forward so that the dim light fell across my face.  "I have nothing to hide.  I ask again; why are you here?"

He paused for a long moment, presumably deciding whether or not he wished to conduct his business with a female.  I drank my mead and waited.  Finally he spoke.  "I seek help.  Yon barkeep sent me to you."

"What help do you need that cannot be obtained in the Government District?"  In spite of myself, my interest was piqued.

"Six days ago my sister set out to visit our cousin Nalia's household in the forests west of Athkatla.  She never arrived.  This morning one of her guards returned to the city and told us that her party was attacked, and that Moira was carried off by bandits.  The rest of the party was slaughtered.  He died of his own wounds shortly after delivering his message."

"Your sister is dead."  I said it with flat certainty.

"No!"  He paused, visibly exerting control of himself.  "I do not believe that.  I will not believe it."

"So why does this concern me?" I asked, although I was fairly sure I already knew.

"The barkeep tells me that you are one of the best trackers in all of Amn.  He also says that you make your living by quests and adventuring."  His expression told me he found that difficult to believe.  He must have been desperate indeed to even consider the idea.  No matter.  I'd disabused others of the same notion, that a woman couldn't live by the sword. 

"Why should I help you?"

"Five thousand gold pieces.  Plus whatever men and supplies you need.  My father's resources will be at your disposal."  For the first time I could see how anxious he was.  "I will do anything to find her."

A generous sum, especially for one of my limited means.  I considered it briefly, and then replied, "Be at the City Gate at first light tomorrow.  Bring your supplies and your men.  You'll be coming along?"

"Of course."

"Then bring two others.  No more.  We'll travel faster if there are fewer of us.  And I'll have no argument about whatever companions _I_ choose to bring."

This seemed to give him slight pause, but he replied, "Very well."  His face was grim, desperate.  "Dawn tomorrow then."  He rose to go.  "What is your name?"

"Corinne Morrow.  And yours?"

"Ruarc Lochlan, son of Hugh."

I gave him a small, pitying smile.  "Good day to you."  He rose to leave, and I added, "Be cautious as you leave here.  Those two characters in the other corner have marked you as easy prey.  You'll lose more than your purse if you aren't careful."

He pulled his cloak back a little to reveal a sword with a hilt of wrapped silver.  "I may not be as easy a target as they think."


	2. Chapter Two

            The air was chill and damp as I rode over the Bridge toward the City Gate.  I pulled my grey cloak tighter about my shoulders.  My companion was also hooded and cloaked, although I doubted she was bothered by the weather.  Siobhan had lived in Athkatla for a long time; long enough to know that Drow, even half-drow mages such as herself, were better off not being seen in broad daylight.  The dark elf foolish enough to be caught out would soon find herself tied to a burning stake.  I knew her to be a skilled spellcaster and loyal friend, but most others in the City would not be so broadminded.

            Four men waited just inside the Gate.  Ruarc was visible among them.  Siobhan turned to me and lifted an eyebrow.  "He's very pretty, Corinne.  Is gold the only reason you accepted this quest?"

            "Shut up," I growled, and tried to ignore the blush that stole unbidden over my cheeks.  Handsome men are easy to come by in Athkatla; there was no reason this one should spark my fancy.

            We reached the group and Ruarc gestured to the older man beside him.  "My father, Sir Hugh Lochlan.  Father, this is Corinne Morrow."

            If Sir Hugh was taken aback by my obvious femaleness, he didn't show it.  "Greetings.  I thank you for agreeing to this search," he said hoarsely.  "I will be unable to accompany you; my ill health forbids it.  I place my trust in you to return my daughter safely to us."

            I privately thought that to be unlikely, but merely nodded.  I turned to the other two men.  "These will go with us?"

            Ruarc nodded.  "This is Baret, captain of my father's household guard" --he motioned to a middle-aged man with a scarred, bald head— "and this is Douglass, Moira's betrothed."  The younger of the two men was blond haired and square jawed.  He didn't meet my gaze, and I guessed that he was none too happy to be traveling with a woman.

            "This is my companion, Siobhan," I replied.  "She will be traveling with us."

            Siobhan lifted her head and looked straight at the men, exposing her blue skin and pale hair.  I sighed as they recoiled; sometimes my friend's sense of the dramatic could be a real annoyance.

            "Drow!"  Douglass hissed.  "This is an outrage! I will not travel with such as this!"

            "Half-Drow, little one," she shot back. "And you're welcome to stay behind."

            "Enough!" Sir Hugh's voice cut through the air like a whip.  "If she may help find my daughter, then she is welcome."  His uncomfortable expression belied his bold words; this man must be desperate, I thought, to even consider allowing Siobhan's presence to go unchallenged.  Still, I was grateful.  Douglass glared but said nothing, and both Ruarc and Baret seemed to accept the old man's word as law.

            I shook my head; this journey was not starting out well. Siobhan could be mightily touchy about her race, and already I could see trouble brewing between her and the blond haired young man.  In any case, we were wasting time.  "Let's go," I said. 

            Ruarc faced his father.  "I will bring her back.  I swear it."  The two men clasped forearms.

            "Be careful, my son." 

            We rode out of the gate into the pale morning.

*    *    *    *    *

            We set a quick pace, fueled by the knowledge that we were a week behind our quarry.  Ruarc rode at the head of the column, Douglass at his side.  There was little talk, and only one brief stop during the long day.  Our camp, when we made it, was tense and quiet.  We built a small, smokeless fire and ate dried meat and hard bread.  Ruarc and Baret sat together on one side of the campfire, talking quietly and poring over a map scratched in the dirt.  Siobhan and I leaned against a tree opposite them.  Douglass sat alone and spoke to no one.  

            Finally I leaned forward.  "Do you have any idea who took your sister?  Did this soldier who returned give any clues?"

            Ruarc shook his head.  "My father has few enemies; Moira herself has none."

            "And you, Douglass?" I asked.  "Would someone hurt Moira to hurt you?"

            He fixed me with a steely gaze. "No."

            I broke a twig and tossed it into the fire.  "Bandits, then.  Lying in wait to rob and kill unsuspecting travelers."

            "Padreig said they killed the others and took Moira alive."  Ruarc frowned as he watched sparks float up from the small blaze.  "Why would they take only her?"

            "Sport," Siobhan replied curtly.  I felt a stab of pity at the horrified expression on Ruarc's face.

            "Shut your filthy mouth!"  Douglass was on his feet and standing over us almost before my friend and I had a chance to react.  His fists were clenched and I tensed for a fight.  "Do not speak of her that way!"

            Siobhan glared at him with ill-disguised loathing.  "I speak the truth, nobleman.  If your woman is alive, she will be . . . damaged."

            Baret rose and laid a hand on Douglass's arm.  "Peace, lad.  She may be right.  You have to be prepared for that.  Even if she still lives, Moira may have come to harm."

            "Lies!" Douglass hissed, but returned to his seat.  I relaxed and tucked my dagger back into my belt.  I hadn't even realized I'd drawn it.

            Baret stared hard at Siobhan for a moment.  "You don't have to go rubbing his face in it.  He's worried enow'.  We all are."  He returned to his map-gazing, but the mood in camp was even more uncertain than ever.

            Siobhan lowered her voice and nodded in Douglass's direction.  "He's angry, that one.  Angry and frightened."

            "You aren't helping matters," I pointed out.  "Stop antagonizing him."  I lowered my voice to a whisper.  "You know as well as I do that she's probably dead.  They'll all find that out soon enough.  No need to poke them with the other possibilities as well."

            "Feeling sorry for the dark one, are you?"  She smiled knowingly.  "He _is_ very pretty."

            "Don't be silly."

            "I'm a Drow.  Drow are never silly."

            "Half-Drow, and you can be a real bitch sometimes."

            "Drow are always bitchy."

            "Go to sleep."


	3. Chapter Three

* * *

**Author's Notes: **Thanks very much for the reviews! Hopefully I'll be updating again within the next few days. In the meantime, please bear with me and remember that this is the first writing I've done in ages, so it's probably going to be a little unpolished. )

* * *

We broke camp before dawn. Once again we traveled hard, pushing ourselves and our horses for speed. The land around us varied little through the long miles – rolling hills, thick clusters of trees, and the road little more than a narrow track through the wilderness. Ruarc and Douglass led the party again; until we reached the spot where Moira's party had been attacked, there was little need for my skills at tracking. I reflected that after a week and a half there would probably be few signs to follow.

After a few hours of taut silence among the group I nudged my horse forward to join the two noblemen. "I'm sorry for what Siobhan said." I directed my words mostly to Douglass. "She can be plainspoken at times. It's just her nature."

"Do you think that I'm so foolish not to have considered every possibility?" Douglass snarled. "It haunts my dreams, the thought of what might have happened to Moira. I need no one to remind me." He broke off suddenly, as though he'd said too much.

I pressed on; that was just _my _nature. "You love her."

"All my life."

"And will you still love her, even if you find she has been. . . harmed?"

He didn't hesitate. "Forever."

I nodded. "Well enough, then."

Suddenly Baret's voice shattered the stillness. "Kobolds!"

I snatched my buckler from where it hung behind my saddle and drew my blade. I heard the rasp of metal as Ruarc and Douglass did the same. More than a dozen kobolds swarmed down the hill toward us; their shrill cries pierced the air and chilled the blood. A few archers peppered us with missiles. I saw one fall and turned to grin at Siobhan, who was using her own bow to coolly pick off the attackers one at a time.

Then they were upon us.

I slashed and hacked away at the nearest kobold, severing its arm at the shoulder before running it through. Two more took its place as it fell, and the next few moments were lost in a red haze of battle. I felt a stab of pain in my left calf as a kobold sword got past my defenses; vaguely I heard someone else cry out in rage or pain somewhere to my right. Blood misted the air and fell like rain. Kobolds were small but wily, and their numbers were superior to ours. No matter; as long as Siobhan kept the archers at bay, I could handle a few kobold blade wielders.

It was over almost as quickly as it began; there certainly were some advantages to traveling in the company of trained fighters. I looked around and realized that we were all still standing and smiled grimly.

Baret wiped the blades of his twin axes on the grass. "You're injured, lass," he said, nodding toward my leg.

"It's a scratch," I muttered, but dismounted and rolled up my pant leg. A puncture wound, painful but not deep. I fished in my saddlebag for a pot of healing ointment; it had been blessed by a priest of Lathander and would heal the cut in a matter of hours. Very handy for minor injuries, although not for any serious wounds.

Both Douglass and Ruarc had escaped unscathed, protected by their heavy plate armor. Siobhan was also unhurt, and Baret had a few small scratches that were easily cared for with some of the salve.

We remounted and moved on, and this time Ruarc dropped back to ride with me. I shifted nervously in my saddle and silently cursed Siobhan for falling behind and leaving me alone with him. And then I chided myself for being so flustered by the man.

"That was good sword work," Ruarc said. "Where. . . how did you end up in this life? You've had some education; it shows in the way that you talk."

"I grew up a merchant's daughter in Baldur's Gate. My parents died of plague. I did what I had to in order to survive." I shrugged.

"There was no one to take you in?"

"No relatives, no close friends. My father's business partner took over the shop and left me with nothing but what I could carry." I laughed bitterly. "Women have precious few options in this world, Ruarc. I had no one I could marry, no money, no magical ability, nothing. I could turn mercenary or turn whore. I chose the first. A Ranger named Wallace taught me to hunt and track. I traveled. I learned what I could when I could." I smiled a little. "In the City of Coin, at least among the working class, people care less about what you are than what you can do. I often find work as a guard with merchant caravans, and I've made a name for myself as someone who can get a job done without a lot of fuss. I get by."

"You're quite a woman."

I looked carefully at him, searching his face for a hint of mockery or derision, but found none. "I did what I had to in order to survive."

"Most of the women I know would have died."

"You might be surprised."

"Moira would never have done what you did. She's. . . fragile. Sheltered. It makes me fear for her. If you were taken by bandits you'd probably spit in their eye and dare them to do their worst. She won't." I was alarmed to her a tremor in his voice.

Impulsively I leaned over in the saddle and laid a hand on his arm. "We'll find her."

Douglass shouted suddenly, "Look!"

I jerked my hand back, remembering suddenly that this was a Bad Idea. The four of us joined Douglass at the top of the next hill and gazed down at what he'd found.


	4. Chapter Four

The shallow valley before us had been the scene of a slaughter. Bodies of men and horses lay scattered like jackstraws, and carrion birds fluttered among the remains. In the stillness of the afternoon I could hear flies buzzing over the corpses. Sunlight glinted off a shield emblazoned with the crest of House Lochlan -- a white fish against a blue field. We had found what was left of Moira's escort party.   
  
"We'd best go down and have a look," I said finally. Douglass, Ruarc, and Baret wore grim expressions like masks to hide their grief. Siobhan, typically, seemed unmoved.  
  
"These men were my friends," Ruarc said, and his voice shook a little in spite of himself. "Many of them were my teachers. . . Damn it! Whoever is responsible for this will pay!"  
  
"Not today," I replied and nudged my horse forward toward the carnage.  
  
We spent much of the next three hours combing through the mess, looking for slues as to who might be responsible and where they might have gone. The weapons and armor had been left behind, but the bodies of the men at arms had been looted for whatever gold or jewels they carried. Many fingers and hears were severed, presumably to get at whatever jewelry the unlucky soldier had been wearing. I'd plenty of experience with ugly death, and I didn't know these men, but still a part of me felt growing outrage at the massacre. To be fallen upon, unsuspecting, and cut down like animals. . . Whoever had done this was monstrous.  
  
A few dozen yards to the north of the main battlefield, Siobhan stumbled across the body of a young woman; I guessed her to be a lady's maid sent to accompany Moira. Her throat had been cut, and the tattered state of her garments suggested that she'd been . . . used, before she was killed. I pulled the remains of her cloak over the pale face and staring eyes. "Don't tell the others."  
  
"Tracks!" Baret's voice shattered the stillness. Siobhan and I hurried to join the others.  
  
"They made no effort to hide their trail," I mused, crouching to observe the prints in the earth. I touched the outline of a small, slippered foot. "And they made their prisoner walk." I smiled grimly. "They don't expect to be followed."  
  
Douglass stared at the faint footprint. "Moira was alive when she left here."  
  
I stood, dusting the dirt from my hands. "Yes. And she may still be. They'll be in no hurry to get rid of her if they think no one is coming after them." I looked him in the eyes. "If you believe nothing else, trust this: we are going to catch them. And we are going to do it soon."  
  
Siobhan smirked a little. "Not if we keep standing here." She paused. "Tell me there's to be no nonsense about burying these dead before we go?"  
  
Ruarc shook his head. "No. We will honor our fallen after we return home with my sister."  
  
I nodded approvingly. "Then get the horses. We're wasting time." 


	5. Chapter Five

We rode for two more days before we caught up to them.  
  
The sun was still creeping toward noon when we came upon the remains of the bandits most recent camp. The ashes of the campfire were still smoldering, and even in the soft, springy grass the tracks of horses were clear. "We can't be more than two or three ours behind them," I announced.  
  
Douglass leaned forward eagerly in the saddle. "Then let's go!" he urged. "What are we waiting for?!"  
  
"Nightfall," I replied. "We're waiting for nightfall. We'll trail them the rest of the day, but if we get too close we'll lose the element of surprise. We don't want to be seen."  
  
Douglass snorted. "Are we to creep upon them like cowards, then? Attack from ambush?"  
  
"We came to rescue your woman, not pick a fight," I snapped. "Judging by the tracks I've seen we'll be outnumbered three to one at least, and carrying a wounded woman to boot. We're going to sneak in, and sneak her out, with no fuss if we can help it. They're off their guard and hopefully won't post more than a cursory watch. If we can kill him and get away without bringing the whole damned camp down on our heads, so much the better."  
  
"And what about justice for what they've done?" demanded Ruarc.   
  
"You want justice, go to the City Guard, or those Radiant Heart fools. I've no interest in such. I'm here to retrieve the woman, nothing more." Siobhan was implacable, her voice almost bored  
  
There was a moment's pause. Douglass spoke softly, but with great feeling. "My heart cries out for justice as well, my friend, but I will lay aside that today if it means rescuing Moira. They speak truth, my friend. There is little to gain by dying today."  
  
I cast a long, measuring look at him. For perhaps the first time since we'd left Athkatla, the blond man was agreeing with something Siobhan had said. I glanced quickly at the sky for signs of an impending apocalypse. Seeing none, I simply shook my head in disbelief.   
  
We made camp at sunset, choosing a small clearing near a clear, sparkling stream. "Rest up," I ordered. "We'll move out later tonight, after our quarry has had a chance to bed down and go to sleep. Eat, nap, fill your water bags; we may not have time for much of that on the way back, particularly if we don't make a clean getaway."  
  
Baret didn't bother with a campfire, instead doling out rations of bread and jerky. One by one the others lay down for a short sleep before we commenced our nighttime raid. I didn't; my nerves were already humming with anticipation and I knew that rest would not come easily. I decided to walk instead, allowing the night air and faint starlight to sooth my overwrought nerves. Eventually I sat down on the shore of the little stream, listening to its musical trickle.I   
  
I found myself thinking of Ruarc. He had been a good companion these last few days, not complaining or questioning, smoothing over the inevitable conflicts that arose between party members. His worry for his sister was almost palpable. It infused every part of him, from the slump of his shoulders to the tightness of his jaw to the frown that crease his forehead . . .   
  
Spending quite a bit of time looking at him, eh? a treacherous inner voice sneered. Thinking of making a play for the heart of the noble? Grow up. Women like you are fine for rescuing sisters or tickling under hedgerows, but do really think he'd give you a second thought afterward?  
  
I'm not 'making a play' for anyone, I told the voice firmly. I'm just thinking. And thoughts are private, so go away.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts," said a very real voice next to me.  
  
Flustered by Ruarc's sudden appearance -- embarrassing train of thought aside, I was not a woman used to being sneaked up on -- I stammered, "Nothing. . . nothing really. Woolgathering." I looked away from him, gazing at the stream as it burbled on its merry way, oblivious to the machinations of human beings.  
  
He sat down, so close to me that our arms brushed together. "Nervous?" he asked.  
  
Yes, but not for the reasons you probably think, I thought wildly. "A little," I said out loud. "Knowing a battle is coming is, well. . . I guess I like my violence a little more spontaneous."  
  
He smiled. "I know what you mean." He shifted a little, and it suddenly occurred to me that he seemed nervous, as well.  
  
There was a long moment when neither of use spoke. "You fascinate me," he finally said. " I . . . find myself thinking of you, at odd moments." He finally met my astonished gaze. "I've never known any woman remotely like you."   
  
Then, before I could even begin to formulate a response to that sudden outburst, he kissed me. Full on the mouth, one hand stealing up to caress my cheek, leaning close to me until his simple presence seemed to overwhelm any attempt at rational thought. I kissed back with equal ardor, and when he pushed me gently backward to lie on the ground I did not resist. 


	6. Chapter Six

Author's Note: Whew! Sorry it has taken me so long to get back to this. (I'm sure both of my readers were disappointed ;) ) I've been pretty busy, what with, you know, carrying and giving birth to my son. But hopefully I'm back and will finish this story soon (for better or worse).

* * *

Some time later we crept back to camp and woke the others. Siobhan noted the flush on my cheek and the untidy state of my hair and arched an eyebrow. "Not a word from you," I warned as I checked my gear. "Not a word."

Our little party mounted up and we rode onward into the night. The forest thickened; fallen leaves cushioned the sound of the horses' hooves. We halted the horses as the bandit camp came into sight a couple of hours later.

There were eighteen of them sleeping in bedrolls around a dying fire. I motioned our party to halt and slid off my horse. Siobhan's arrow neatly took care of the only guard; one shot, through the throat, and he was dead without making a sound. Silently I crept to the edge of the small clearing where the bandits were camped, peering into the darkness in an attempt to locate Moira.

I felt rather than saw the others creep up next to me. Siobhan tapped my arm and pointed to a blanket wrapped figure lying at the foot of a tree on the far side of the camp. Pale hair was barely visible in the moonlight. Moira.

I nodded toward Douglass and then signaled the others to stay where they were. Together the noble and I stole around the perimeter until we reached the prisoner. I couldn't suppress a stab of pity for the girl; her face told the tale of many beatings, and her torn dress suggested other abuses as well. Douglass' face was a study in heartbreak as he took in the sight of his betrothed. Gently he placed a hand over her mouth and shook her awake. Moira's eyes flew open and she stared at us both in frank disbelief. Douglass motioned her to be silent and then lifted her in his arms. She clung to him like a woman drowning.

The journey back around the camp seemed to take forever. We had actually reached the others when one of the bandits snorted loudly and then sat up. We all froze as he got to his feet and staggered toward a nearby tree, fumbling with the lacings on his pants. He urinated against the tree, letting his sleepy gaze wander around the camp. Suddenly his posture changed and I knew he had seen the dead guard.

"Go!" I shouted.

"Intruders!" he bellowed at the same time, and the camp came to life.

Douglass fairly threw Moira onto his horse and then leapt up behind her. The rest of us mounted as quickly and rode helter skelter into the night.

We had a head start of only a few minutes – sleeping or no, those bandits would be mounted and chasing up within the quarter hour. We were outnumbered; our only hope lay in speed. Burdened as we were with the wounded woman, I knew that we wouldn't be able to move very fast for very long. I sent up a prayer to whatever gods might be listening that we could use a little help.

An hour's hard riding got us clear of the forest. I surveyed my companions. All were there and seemingly intact, but Moira was slumped in Douglass' arms and his horse, carrying the two of them, was beginning to flag. We reigned in the horses momentarily to regroup.

"We have to stop," Douglass called softly. "Moira can't take much more of this."

Fear made me curter than I might normally have been. "She'll have to," I snapped. "If we stop now we're dead. And let someone else carry her for a while or that nag you're riding will collapse." I dug in my saddle bag for a healing potion. "Have her drink this. It'll help some."

"She's barely conscious," Douglass protested.

"Then pour it down her throat!"

He glared at me, but began coaxing the girl to drink. She sputtered and coughed as the potion rolled down her throat, but a little color came into her cheeks. Douglass passed her over to Baret.

Faintly, I heard hoof beats in the forest. "Let's get moving," I said. "They're coming."


End file.
